Retirement
by Joel182
Summary: Just three short SLASH fics about three retirees in Edge, Batista and HBK. Pairings are  in the order of stories  Edge/Christian, Batista/Rey, and HBK/HHH. Enjoy.
1. Telephone Love

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING EXCEPT THE PLOT. ENJOY.**

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><p>It's been five days since I retired. No one told me how boring it could be. Normal people probably see retirement as that one chance to do what they've always wanted to do. Go where they've always wanted to go.<p>

Problem is... I've already done everything. I've already gone everywhere. I've already lived out my dream.

I've done everything that there is to do, but five days ago - when I was merely looking at the wooden door of retirement - I had been expecting a sense of fulfillment and joy on the other side. A sense of relief that finally I could hang it up for good and catch up on the life that I hadn't gotten the chance to live out like the average Joe did.

That's the problem with green pastures. They're just pastures that stretch out on end with no distracting features to save the mind from falling into that deep hole of boredom. For five days straight all I experienced was the sense of sheer and utter boredom.

Then he came along and gave me something I could look forward to. Something I thought I had lost when the words "I have to retire" had fled from my mouth. Christian gave me a future. And it came in a small box.

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><p><em>6:30 am. <em>

"Hello?"

"Hey Christian." I give the clock beside me a second glance. Sleep sometimes fabricates lies... unfortunately, six-thirty am was not one of them - and honestly, I should be used to this routine by now. With that in mind, my head rolls back onto the full surface of the pillow. "What's up?" I ask whilst rubbing the sleep out of my eye.

"Ah nothing much." A pause. "Did I wake you up?"

"Um..." I give a slight chuckle to nothing in particular as I think about how true and untrue my answer of no was going to be. Honestly, I was already awake - if having eyes open while still lying in bed counts as being 'awake' - but even with the sleep rubbed figuratively out of my eye, I still felt the urge to collapse right back into that world of peaceful slumber. "No. No you didn't."

"That's good." I can tell he's smiling. Probably looking to his left (or right, depending) searching for the parts that are missing from this conversation.

The parts that surround 'why do you call me everyday without ever really saying much?' I can almost taste the question on my tongue, but it's six-thirty in the morning. I'm sure Christian has other things to do besides focus on answering a question like that.

"I've got an interview at seven." He sighs, and I find it both sad and creepy that my mind is conjuring up the imaginary feel of his breath against my skin. "I really don't wanna go. I don't wanna_ go_." He whines childishly. It brings a sleepy smile to my face. His antics always brings a smile to my face - though it's not always a sleepy one. "And to add, I've got to get to the gym right after that, and then drive all the way to the damn arena for taping and crap."

"It's the price of being the World Champion, Christian." I give a slight scoff. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Oh I won't say that. But I will blame you if I have to strip again at Orlando because their metal detectors are retarded." He laughs a bit.

I join in - silently recalling the scene he's describing. It stopped at him being merely shirtless, and for the second time, I have to recollect my wandering brain cells - the ones that are wishing that they could have seen more.

"Anyways," He continues. "What do you have planned for today?"

"Um..." I look to the ceiling. Truthfully, I have nothing planned. Not one solitary thing. "I'm running low on groceries, so...I'll probably head out and restock."

"Damn." Christian states behind that cool chuckle of his. "You eat like a monster when you're not wrestling." For some reason that word hits me with a hard wave of depression. There were truly a lot of things I no longer did after wrestling. "Are you going down to the beach again?"

"Y-Yeah." For some reason, it's getting a lot harder to hold this smile of mine - even though I can literally see Christian smiling brightly on the other side of this phone. It's for that reason alone why I decide to voice the next few words. "Do you think...well..." Damn it. Again with the choking. "I mean if you don't have the time then... I just wanted... well, I just thought that since you haven't been down here in a while that maybe you wouldn't mind -"

"Adam" Christian cuts in softly. His smile is dwindling away and I know it. There's a little me inside screaming 'stupid' over and over again - and it only gets louder once Christian's sighing echoes through the phone's receiver. Stupid.

"Hey I understand if you can't come Christian." I move in quickly to salvage the wreckage that I single-handedly created. "It's just that Tampa's changed a lot and since I'm the one who has all the free time now, I've gotten the chance to see those changes and just thought you'd want in on it. Too."

He chuckles to break away the final shard of ice that's clinging on, before returning to his usual jovial self. As for me... I just really wish I never knew what Christian's reply would be. "You make a good point there Adam. I'll check my schedule. I mean...when I think about it... I can hardly remember what Tampa even looks like." He laughs again.

There is a part of me - yes - that has applied Christian's words to my own insecurities. Things like this happen all the time. People try to keep in touch. Christian actually made it a sole intent when he gave me this phone - that only really has his number in it. However, when things like distance and work and timing get in the way, relationships - friendships and others - start to skate on thin ice. And then the thin ice cracks, and those relationships end as the distance becomes too vast for hope itself. Soon and very soon, I knew Christian's new exciting life in the WWE would put him on a narrow road, where in order to keep going he'd have to shed off the excess weight. Weight like a bored, retired, best friend.

I was just baggage that sooner or later Christian was going to have to shed. It saddens me to think like this, but the truth does that. It always does that, and it does that especially when all this - Christian making an effort to keep in contact with me, and me giddiously awaiting his next call because I lack the spine to simply call him when I can really use the sound of his voice - is simply karma twisting the blade. When I was on top for eleven times, I never once took the time out for friendships. For Christian. And yet, ever since I walked off SmackDown for the last time, Christian has gone out of his way - despite being caught up in his recent, and first, World Title win - to give me the time of day.

The wave of depression returns reminding me harshly of how much I truly don't deserve this kindness, and how much I must accept things as they are because of the aforementioned. I have no right to request a simple day with Christian. A stroll on the beach walk. A drive through the city. A dinner and movie combination. I have no right - none - to ask Christian for any of those things because just being able to talk to him like this is enough.

_This _is enough.

"You know what," Christian speaks again, severely cutting my train of downward thought. "Since you're heading out anyways, stop by the post office and send me a postcard. One of those 'wish you were here' cards. Make sure Tampa's on the front."

Not entirely sure why, but not necessarily wanting to disobey, I answer by nodding first then speaking. "Okay." I pause in thought. "Where am I sending it though?"

"Oh. I'll text you the address."

"Text?" I ask as though the word itself is foreign. Actually, to me, it is.

"Text." Christian reiterates before letting out a short laugh. How he has the energy at six thirty in the morning is beyond me. "You know...Messaging. It's quicker than email."

"And yet another thing that I don't have."

"Geez." He lets out a hard breath. "What are you, a hermit? You have got to get out there more Adam. Technology is leaving you in the dust."

"Whatever." I dismiss the harmless needle-picking and swiftly move on to the more pointed matters at hand. "Anyways, you'll send me the address and I'll send the postcard off. It shouldn't take long to reach you."

"It doesn't matter. SmackDown's not leaving for another four days so...I'm sure I'll get it." He stops for a moment. "Hey Adam."

"Yeah?" I ask - too enthusiastically as per always.

"I've got to cut this one short. Randy just sent me a message. I've gotta get going now bud."

"Okay." I strain the word out so as not to sound the least bit disappointed by Christian's words. 'Bud' was probably the one that did the most damage.

"Send me that postcard when you've got the time, okay?"

"Yeah." When I've got the time? I always have the time. I just have nothing to do with it all. "Talk you later then?"

"Yeah. I'll call you first chance I get to make sure you're not eating out the grocery stores." He laughs again and I just really wish he were here. "Alright. I gotta go. Randy's getting impatient. Bye."

"Bye." Barely squeaks out of my throat.

The line cuts off and soon all I hear is absolute silence. As of right now, I had twenty-four hours to look forward to - most of which I won't be spending in conversation with Christian - and it makes me wonder /were the days always this long?/

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><p><em>11:05 pm.<em>

"Christian?" I call out violently. The trench in my living room floor - the one that I had been digging via nervously pacing back and forth like a man possessed - sits there and stares at me as I all but hold the phone to my ear in a modified anaconda vice. In all this, Christian has yet to answer. "Christian...Christian are you there?"

I can hear a series of shaky breaths as they stagger out of his lungs and through the small end of my phone's receiver. In that moment I realize that on the other side, in the solidarity of that small hotel room, Christian is sitting on his bed with his back hunched over and his head down...crying.

"Christian." I call softly with my face crunched into a worried expression. "Christian talk to me. Come on." My hands squeeze the phone closer to my ear - nearly cutting off all blood circulation to the ear - as I imagine cradling his hung head in them both. "Christian..."

"I was so sure." He starts through a low tone that barely makes it to the ranks of being a whisper. "When I shook his hand... I was so sure I could beat him."

There's a silence that follows and it rings through what sounds like a stifled cry. Never once did I hold a disdain for the separation that this damned phone caused. Then again...I never heard Christian cry like this. And it's only now that I want to throw the small thing away and drive to where Christian was and comfort him there. However, logic knows that I'd reach there this time tomorrow, and SmackDown would have already flown off somewhere else.

It's logic that sits me down onto my nearby couch and has me clutching this phone as though my life depended on it.

"Seventeen years." Christian begins speaking again. "I worked so hard for seventeen years...and then I lose it all in just five days." He scoffs to a dry laugh. "There's gotta be a joke in there somewhere." His voice instantly plummets. " God... I hope there's a joke."

I can see his eyes raking the carpet on the hotel room floor wishing in that moment for the earth to swallow him whole. There's probably still tears rolling down the length of his face from the banks of his eyes - riding much of the same currents left by it's predecessors. I close my eyes and wipe them away.

"I've let myself down Adam." His breath hitches again. "I've let myself-" Again the sounds of movement come through the receiver and all I can hear - once those noises pass - is Christian, at a distance, breaking down to the crushing disappointment mounted atop his shoulders.

"Christian" I draw in a deep breath only to realize that at some point, my eyes too had started leaking. "Listen to me buddy. This isn't the end. I know it seems like it is but trust me -" I bite down on my lower lip to drive away the impact of hearing Christian respond in heavy sobs that feel like an earthquake inside my heart. "This isn't the end Christian. This isn't the end." His sobbing ceases for a moment as he catches his composure and soon I hear the sound of the receiver being picked up off a set of sheets and traveling back to his ear. Just that simple sound is enough to strengthen my words - as well as my own faith in their ability to comfort Christian when I physically couldn't. "I was there Christian, exactly where you, so many years ago. I was there sitting in that hotel room with my head hung and tears running down my face as I looked at the mountain that I had to climb all over again. But I'll tell you something right now Christian, what got me back on my feet - what got me up that first ladder rung - wasn't willpower. It was the knowledge that people had to truly fear me because now I had something else to prove." I take a moment's pause. "Right now, if I were Randy Orton or Sheamus or John Cena...I would fear you more than I ever did before Christian. And I'd fear you Christian because I know that you're the kind of guy who's going to keep coming back harder than ever before every time you're knocked down." His low sniffles stop, but his breathing still has yet to return to a sense of calm and normalcy. However, through it all, I can see the shy smile that creeps up on his face as he begins to meditate on the words that come out of my mouth. For that reason, a smile etches onto my face, but the tears still drip away. "I believe in you Christian. I believe that you'll lie down on the bed you've made today and wake up to a different day tomorrow. I believe in you. And no matter what...you'll always be the Champ to me."

During my retirement I realized that there are certain things in this world that will always have a profound positive effect on the heart. Most times it's a song or a piece of writing. Sometimes it's a few words of encouragement. Other times it's a pat on the back or a shoulder to cry on.

As for now...Christian's whispering "Thank you" is what serves to send rapid-fire emotions sling-shotting through my heart. After that, we both say our goodbyes. And once more, Christian makes his promise:

"I'll call you tomorrow."

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><p><em>1:30 pm<em>

This is my first time seeing the beach walk here in Tampa. I decided, upon arising at six in the morning to the dreadful sound of a now disposed-of alarm clock, to take the day and for once get some of the fresh air I had acclaimed Tampa of having in one of my earlier conversations with Christian.

/Christian/ As the breeze passes through my hair and clothes - disheveling them both - I begin to think a lot about Christian's whirl-wind life. Despite losing his title, Christian was still very much on top of the world. I knew he would be, but I hoped he wouldn't. It's the selfishness in me that's talking right now. The side that wants more from Christian. The side that no longer desires to speak through the small holes of a cellphone - also known as the side that left said cellphone in a drawer at home. My selfishness wishes that Christian would revert back to the days when he had just been starting out. When _we_ were just starting out. When all we had was time.

However, as soon as selfishness rears it's ugly head, I think back on how many hours we spent sleeping on the floors of old basketball courts that lay outstretched in the coldest armpits of Canada. I think back on all the frostbite we endured and all the Kraft dinners that barely kept us alive long enough to survive daily, and non-stop training. I think back to our locker room days, and all the controversies that nearly had us removed from our dream. I think back on the memorable view of the ring and the crowd as we sat atop those ladders holding our very first WWE Tag Team Titles.

It's through all this thought that a long passed memory returns to my mind. It's me, sitting out on the sidewalk and staring at the people who just silently pass me by. It's me all alone. And then someone stops right in front of me and then bends down to greet my eyes with a large amount of enthusiasm stuck in his. His contagious smile spreads a bit as he just stares at me as though he's looking at a rare animal through the safety glass, until eventually he speaks.

_"Can you do an elbow drop?"_

When my mind returns, it's now been thirty minutes. I've already walked the entire beach and now stand at the edge of the sandy banking staring out at the bits of waves that come and go. The slow movement of the waves reminds me a lot of my relationship with Christian. Just like his career, it would take years - over two decades - for us to finally reach the peak of our friendship. And just like these waves that crumble on the sand in a losing effort to grab hold of the loose ground and stand, I know for certain that our friendship will probably take another twenty years before it can reach the apex of a loving relationship.

Had this been my first day in WWE, had I been twenty three now, then twenty more years would seem possible - even by a fragment. However I was a retired wrestler living on carefully borrowed time. On way or another some injury was going to be the death of me, ensuring that I have no time. I have no time at all to waste.

With that thought, I turn on my heels and run all the way back.

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><p><em>9:15 pm<em>

"Hello?"

"Hi ." I feel nervous all over. Never once had I picked up this phone to call Christian - until now. Twenty five missed calls can be very persuasive.

"Who is this?"

It was because of the nerves that I didn't realize the sudden gravel thrown into Christian's voice. The question from the other side confirms one certain thing - no. This is not Christian. "It's Adam." I can feel a slight frown form on my face. "Who is this?"

"Oh hey Adam." The voice continues on oblivious to my growing agitation. "It's Orton."

I remain silent for two reasons. One, Randy was the one controlling the conversation for now and so was required to somehow carry it. It's Orton wasn't doing that. Secondly, I was shell-shocked.

"W-Why are you on Christian's - Where's Christian?" I asked offensively.

"Whoa there. No need to be all demanding man. He's just taking a shower."

There was blood on my bedroom floor. It had drained entirely from my face to stain the ground below. I cursed my imagination and it's inexplicable ability to run wild for the image that printed in my mind. Immediately, I shook it out only to have it ricochet back to me.

"Anyways, what's with you not picking up all this time man?" For some reason, I felt like answering. However, this wasn't Christian on the line. No, it was Randy Orton violating it. "Christian was worried sick about you. Are you okay down there?"

/Down there?/ The snide remark irked me. "I'm fine." I grated - both annoyed with Randy Orton as well as my inability to just hang up on Randy Orton. Instead, I went on with the conversation. "Just finished touring the city."

"Ah. That's good to hear. I'll make sure I pass that along to him."

The frown deepened. "You don't have to." I spat venomously. "I'll tell him myself when he gets out of the shower."

"Oh sorry man." Randy slid in - I can see the side-smirk on his face. "I'm treating our downtrodden Christian to a night out. All-inclusive stuff. It's to make up for his loss at Over The Limit."

What tore me apart was not what flew out of Randy's mouth, but rather the fact that Christian had not spoken to me about his new-found depression and instead took solace in Randy Orton's all-inclusive night out. Then again...I did miss over twenty of his phone calls in my sudden exploration of Tampa and Florida itself - in a desperate effort to cease my dependence on Christian. I hadn't been home for days. I didn't carry the cellphone because I thought he'd be too busy. Actually...I knew he would be. Yet I was wrong on both accounts. He wasn't busy, and he needed me. But I wasn't around to answer his call. Randy Orton was.

"Okay." I bit my tongue on the jumble of words that I thought could replace what I wanted to say. "Just uh...Just let him know that I hope he enjoys his night."

"Okay. Bye Edge."

The line goes dead. It sounds like the steady singular sound of a heart monitor that's attached to a deceased heart. My heart.

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><p><em>10:30 am.<em>

The phone hasn't rang in two days. During that time - and especially now - I feel the urge to call, however the thought of Christian's hectic schedule and his unbalanced timing, I find myself unable to simply pick up the small object and hit redial.

That's what I want to believe.

I know the truth. Every time I close my sunken eyes, I see that image I had seen the night Randy Orton barged his way into the special connection that I had with Christian - the kind of connection that looked to be linking with something past the borders of friendship. Sadly though, two things lurk on the other side. One is something I find myself dreaming more and more about. A life with Christian Cage. Then there's number two. I can see Christian distraught at his friend's sudden vanishing act, and growing to resent the man called "Edge" the longer he stays cradled in the arms of Randy Orton.

It takes a longer shake of my head to rinse the image out, and before anything else - disturbing and depressing - can cross the seas of my mind, the little black phone lights up as it knocks away to the only beat it knows. The Edge and Christian beat.

"Hello?" I answer it in near panic. Being dragged out of deep thought is equal to being suddenly woken up from a deep - too realistic - dream.

"Hey."

The lack of cold gravel and the disappeared vision of a coy smile let's me know instantly that this is Christian. "Hey." Is all I manage to stretch out of my throat as a series of calm washes over my now seated body.

"How've you been?"

"Um..." I think on the many things that had happened in a month - the sights of Florida, the crisp air of the highways, the waves crashing on the sandy beaches, and even the hour hike on Tampa's beach walk - however as great as they all are, for some reason, I don't truly want to talk about that. "I'm sorry I missed your calls."

"That's okay." Christian states with his usual tone. "You must've been busy, just like me."

/I wasn't/ Is a total lie. "I heard about Over The Limit" Immediately I regret bringing that up and the mini-me begins to sing it's song about my mind-numbing stupidity.

"Capitol Punishment is where it'll happen." There's a smile growing on his face as his confidence sounds through the phone. "I know it."

"Me too." I state with a goofy smile stuck childishly to my face with no intent of going away.

A small moment of silence passes by that has me in a vice of saying something, but at a complete loss as to what that something is, before Christian speaks again - saving me in the process. "Do you remember that postcard I asked you to send me?"

"Yeah." I answer whilst conjuring up a checklist that had me ticking off 'sent postcard' in my head.

"Well I got it about fourteen days later. The hotel back in Florida had to track me down and everything." He laughs a bit. I give a wider smile and a small sound that came close to a laugh of sorts. "Anyways, I saw on the post card that it said 'wish you were here signed Edge', and I thought of something."

"What?" I asked, clearly confused. I had wanted to remind him that it was he who had been specific about what post card I mail to him...however the moment slipped by unnoticed till now.

"I thought" He paused, "this might be a real wish, and that I was never going to know unless I did one thing."

The second time around, "What" didn't come off with distanced confusion. Instead, it came with a deadly aim.

"Show up of course." He chuckled lightly as I stared at the space ahead - filled with a hoisted TV and other nick knacks - with eyes widened to their limits. "How else were you going to show me this famous beach walk of yours?" Another light laugh. "I'm waiting outside."

The phone disconnects as the call ends.


	2. Those Fing Stairs!

**Enjoy.**

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><p>The large room filled up rather quickly with the sounds of raspy breathing and the grinding of teeth. Just a little bit/ Dave thought as his brows knitted tightly into a frown. Determination oozed out of every pore in his being. /Just a little bit/ He felt his spine shift, but bit through the pain and continued on. /Just a little bit.../ He strained /...further.../

The sound of bone hitting wood is never favorable - least of all when it's your head hitting that wooden surface. In Dave's current case, he was lying face down on his own floor, and the throbbing pain in his head, spine and still bent knees only multiplied due to the excruciating pain that threatened to split his forehead in two. The edge of the first stair had caught him falling and brushed him aside brutally so that he could land squarely on the floor.

/Damn it/ He cursed lowly to himself as he slowly rolled his face to his right. It was there that his oak wood stair case sat. The one that cost him far more than the Mercedes that sat in his driveway. There sat his nemesis - staring at him with that grin and those peering eyes that just screamed "you'll never best me fool". The visual further served to anger Batista as he glared away at the inanimate object. However, he didn't have long to divulge in his hatred for those fucking stairs, because no sooner had the wood floor made solid contact with his face did the door sitting directly atop the staircase prop open.

/Shit!/ Dave thought madly as he suddenly found the energy to scramble up off the floor. He didn't get far though - useless legs and a ever-shifting spine will do that - and had to once more rely on the support of that damned wheelchair. It too sat there staring with lecherous eyes and a phony grin. They all belittled him. The stairs. The wheelchair. People. Everyone looked at Dave "The Animal" Batista as invincible. Indestructible. A man immune to everything and anything. The admiration died the moment Dave crashed spine first through the steel grating of Over The Limit's arena.

His mind wandered back into that always-there dark space that had found a nesting ground in the wounds of his soul. He hated them all. John Cena for kicking out his legs. Brett Hart for handing him no other option except to tuck his tail and run like some mangy dog. Angie for marrying him and having him build this stupid house with those damned stairs right in the center of it, only to up and leave him in this empty shell. Himself for lacking the strength to pummel them all.

God.

He hated life. Not life in general...more like he hated _his _life. The one he was now forced to live. This life - bound to this damn wheelchair and scared of a fucking set of stairs.

"What are you doing Dave?"

Batista lifts his head - the wheelchair wickedly shifts back, forcing Dave to cling on helplessly like a fucking child would to his blanket - and glares at the figure standing exactly two steps above him. Quite frankly, it was the safest place to be. Doctor's promised him his legs back in six months. A year later and still nothing gave - save his sanity.

"What do you want now Rey?" He spat venomously, while using his arm strength to drag his lifeless lower half onto the seat of the chair. Once there he applied the brakes to the damned thing and continued to stare needles into Rey's eyes.

The smaller man gave a small smile to Dave's twisted expression, before leaning casually onto the wooden banister of the staircase and staring at the older man through bright, dark-colored eyes. "I could've told not to do that."

A vessel in Dave's brain burst open with the force of anger. "Shut the fuck up! I don't wanna hear that shit from you!" His voice rose, but Rey continued to smile ever so peacefully at Dave. That in itself did not help at all. "Wipe that stupid grin off your face! What the fuck are you so damn happy about?"

Rey remained silent as though Dave had directed all his questions to some unknown third party before scoffing a bit to himself. "You sure bark a lot."

Without putting much thought into it, Dave took his hand's off the wheels of his chair, instead rolling them forward, only to launch himself onto the sharp-stairs. Rey - being far more agile than Dave even before the man became a cripple - hopped up two more stairs to further apply distance to himself and Dave. Once the moment that something could have happened left without anything happening at all, Rey's board smile returned to his face.

"Three steps this time. You're getting better everyday Dave."

The rage that had propelled him here - regrettably seeing that he had now gone and further injured himself - completely fled in that moment as his anger faded leaving him with nothing left to do except look up at a distanced Rey Mysterio. When he calculated everything, he came to realize that if he could get up those two separating stairs then he'd at least be able to touch Rey's feet. However, the entire year had taught him one thing - upper body strength meant nothing when the entire spinal system is damaged. Two steps suddenly multiplied by a thousand in Dave's mind and the space that separated himself from Rey only widened. In an instant, without really trying, Dave gave up.

Taking note of that fact, Rey's smile dropped as he let out a long sigh. "You're so easily demotivated Dave." Batista dragged his eyes off the stairs and further up to see the distance lessening. The younger man had taken a step down and knelt to meet Dave's eyes as he sighed emphatically at Batista's expression that looked like a lost child - before giving the man a gentle smile. "It's been three months Dave and you still can't make it up one single stair."

Like wind in a hurricane, Dave's anger returned violently and crushed his face beneath it's boot. "Don't you fucking belittle me!"

Rey chuckled lightly as he stared inquisitively at Dave's retreat to anger. "Barking won't get you up here." He slid his face closer to Dave's and swiftly - and gently - placed a light kiss on the man's lips - retreating with the same lightning speed to avoid the right hand that Dave shot at him. "If you bite though" Rey spoke through a cruel smile "then you can make it up here."

With that Rey sprinted off back up to the room upstairs that he had chosen - all on his own - to stay in. Only God knew how this situation had started - three months ago Mysterio randomly popped up at his front door, and proclaimed himself Dave's caretaker - and only God knew how it would end. Looking at the stairs that he now rested on, Dave could clearly see the choice he would soon be faced with. Either get up and start again - just like everyday that had passed by since Rey came into his life - or slither back down to the safety and support of that damned wheelchair.

Batista scoffed a bit as he used his arms to amble back into the all-too-familiar seat of his simple wheelchair, before drawing in a deep breath and sliding it a short distance away from the staircase. Once he had settled into the desired spot, Dave shot his eyes up at the room door directly atop the summit of the stairs - knowing full well that Rey was sitting in there, waiting like he always had been - and once again stood up as best as he could. With one foot in front of another, Dave shuffled towards the staircase.

Just a little further until he conquered the fucking thing.


	3. Regrettable Solace

**Enjoy**

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><p>The two men sat across from one another. Despite being in the center of a upstate restaurant,both men acted as though they were in a world all there own. However, their distance still remained as though the same rules that existed here, existed in their bubble.<p>

The first thing they talked about was their initial reactions to one another. One declared his utter shock to seeing Shawn walking around with a mullet, gear one size too small, earrings and navel rings, as well as a cocky demeanor swimming about. The other then described their initial reaction as being struck into a state of shock due to the slightly bland attitude that encompassed the kid then known as Hunter Hearst Helmsley.

They laughed at the bad impressions that they both decided to put on display in a ruckus game of public charades. Despite the looks given to them by a few members of the crowd, both men continued talking and laughing housed in the safety of their own world. Yet, still, they maintained the distance applied to the pre-positioned chairs. Neither man made any movement that lessened and/or extended that distance. Rather, they ignored it, and continued on with their conversing.

Soon the topic switched over to career decisions. Why did you stand by me all the time? Why did you step down to make me look good? Both answers coursed through the same vein.

_"Because you're my best friend." _

The men talked about title reigns. Title losses. The elation of the first win. The sting of the first loss. They took a moment of silence as they both reminisced through those times when they sat on top of the mountain only to be knocked off in the blink of an eye. They solemnly recalled the feeling, and barely mumbled it across to each other. However, the more they talked about the feelings that enveloped them during those heart-wrenching times, the quicker they came to both realizing that had it not been for the other... the black hole of yesteryear would have swallowed them whole back then. The realization brought back small smiles to their faces.

Long gone were the heavy laughters as they discussed the regrets of their career-lives. Shawn regretted Bret. Hunter regretted Chyna. Both circumstances - although slightly different for the situations they were known for - had burned a deep hole into the each man's hearts and had them both looking at each other yet past each other, while silently passing on apologizes to the people they hurt the most.

Soon Shawn diverted the topics. He started with life. Finding God again and getting married. Hunter joined in. He spoke about the excitement of fatherhood, to which Shawn related, and then went on to further the discussion by talking about his personal fears. There was a link there as well. Both men shared strange childhoods that had them looking for a way out at the age when most kids would be staring college in the face. Shawn thought a lot about his traits and knew that changes aside, somewhere in his DNA lay dormant the Shawn Micheals who could do no wrong, but did it just because he could. He expressed his fear of passing that on to his children.

Hunter discussed his fear of missing out on fatherhood due to his own lack of a father that saw him being unable to think of anybody else except himself. He spoke about knowing that his selfishness is ever present and feared that his inability to recognize that others need love and attention too would soon be the demon that came back to haunt him.

After Hunter spoke, both men sat at their designated distances in their small bubble and stared at one another before smiles cracked their faces. They moved on to talk about the positives in their lives. One spoke rapidly about his overall enjoyment of owning the very company he grew up as a fan of, while the other went through his own speech about life after wrestling, as well as his joy over his new TV show. Hunting inevitably became the new topic as Shawn expressed his feelings towards it, and Hunter tried in earnest to keep track of the "hunter's slang".

They laughed some more, as they both drank more of the wine that sat on the table in separate glasses. Work schedules came up, as Shawn showed genuine interest in how Hunter was going to balance it all, and soon the topic ran back to families where Hunter went on to invite the man ahead to a Christmas party. Shawn gave a small smile, and promised to be there.

Seemingly, the conversation ended on that note, however soon the topic of a more personal nature came about. Both men discussed their wives - from the why they love them to the why they hate them. Stephanie had her colder days, and Rebecca was a bit of a neat freak. One thing that both men agreed on when it came to their wives was that women were always right and that was that. To the sentiment both men burst out into a fit of laughter that had most of the restaurant laying their eyes upon them. However, both men continued to ignore the presence of others simply because they had now gone full circle and reentered that little world of theirs. The one that was only occupied by the two men.

Realizing that, Hunter leaned forward to lessen the preordained distance between them, and in a low tone - smile vanished into a look of dishearten - asked "Why didn't we happen?"

Shawn stared at the man and gave a sad smile. Even with this bubble around them and the distance vanquished...there was no answer.

Both men knew that, and soon - as Hunter slipped back into his former position - their bubble finally burst.


End file.
